...Whoosh!

The train went into darkness, deafening noise all around.

Rory was jolted back to reality. They were travelling through a tunnel, the first of several on the journey. He was staring straight ahead, an ecstatic grin on his face. He could see it in the window that was now a mirror. He could also see the man!

Suddenly he was locked in a reflective gaze. The man's dark eyes were boring into him. It felt like he was reading Rory's mind, seeing his thoughts in all their depravity.

Rory blushed. His cheeks turned red, redder than his buttocks in the fantasy interrupted. He lowered his head, ashamed of what he'd dreamt, then raised them again, unable to resist. The eyes captured him anew. It seemed like they hadn't moved - they had been waiting, knowing, sure of a return. The man was staring at Rory, blatantly assessing his face in the same way Rory now dared to look at his.

Ruggedly butch was the impression Rory got: strong fleshy features that were hard and a little frightening - early thirties at a guess, perhaps a little older, though age was an irrelevance where such masculine fineness was concerned. The well cut short hair was black like the eyes; the nose was straight and the jaw was firm. A mobile phone ear set linked the face to the outside world, though at that moment no communication appeared to be getting made, the call cut off due to the tunnel - so his attention was fully on the other face in the window mirror. Rory's face: boyishly handsome in a cute chubby-cheeked sort of way, fresh and rosy, blushing with shame for a crime of the mind.

Then both faces went away along with the noise. The train thundered into the light of a fine summer evening, leaving Rory quaking and somewhat relieved.

He heard a ring tone.

"Call me back in twenty minutes," the man briskly said on identifying the caller - another minion under his command no doubt.

Rory stood there on shaky legs, adrenalin flowing, all his senses highly tuned. He could feel hot breath falling onto his head - a breath that he hadn't noticed before. He could feel the man's heat so close to his body - sensuous warmth that was newly individual in the hot claustrophobic carriage. He was infinitely more aware of the man's rich musky aroma; it was almost suffocating and deliciously so. And was that more pressure he detected pushing against his shoulders? It might have been a nudge from a third party passenger - or perhaps it was the man moving deliberately closer.

More minutes passed. Rory was aching. He so desperately wanted to push back into the man - to jut out his ass and rub against the big brute's groin. The rest of the passengers disappeared from his mind. His music quietly played, but Rory couldn't hear it. All he was aware of was a presence - an aura that had him totally snared.

Then there was darkness outside again and that noise inside: the second tunnel before the next station on the line - an affluent suburb where only the very wealthy could afford to live. Rory gazed in the mirror. He saw the man. He saw the same expression. Then he let out a gasp that no one could hear as he felt a hand softly caressing his buttocks. The man never flickered in his gaze. He held Rory fixed, shocked and un-protesting. Under the flaps of his suit jacket, the only one he possessed, Rory's ass was groped and gratuitously fondled.

The motion was so slow. The hand inched round his side. Stunned at the audacity, Rory allowed. Still holding him trapped in a reflective gaze, the man's hand came to the front and covered Rory's groin, pressing flat against the hardness of his raging erection. There was some pressure from behind. The man's groin was in the small of Rory's back, his own erection all too clear and wonderfully large. With his hand stroking Rory's rock hard cock, hidden from other eyes, the man pressed with his throbbing meat and grinded it into the lad.

All the man was doing was feeling him up, but it felt so intense, so unbelievably dirty, and incredibly daring to do so in public, in a crowded train carriage, people all around oblivious to the act. Rory's mind was spinning, his cock was on fire. The man carried on stroking whilst grinding into him, the sound of the train whooshing through the tunnel an explosion of sound adding to the thrill.

Then Rory gasped again into the noise. His mouth hung open in aghast shocked wonder as he felt the man's fingers find the clasp on his flies. Slowly, slowly, the zip was undone. Rory stared at the man who's expression was unchanged, hard and assured, commanding compliance. Rory was powerless, even if he'd wanted to, he could never have resisted. The man had Rory entranced, and wonderfully so, as his fingers slipped inside and pushed his briefs aside to make contact with Rory's rampant erection - bare flesh against flesh, a thrill so divine, nothing had ever compared.

Pressing harder against him, Rory moaning unheard in the whooshing all around, the man grasped the hot shaft and chugged on it hard. Rory gazed at him in awe. His face contorted as he was masturbated in public. Rory was so worked up, a few strokes was all it took. Inside his trousers his balls exploded, and a strong burst of cum shot up his tube to fire out his knob. Still staring, the man quickly moved his hand to cover the ejaculating glans, gathering the rest of the spunk in his fingers and palm as Rory emptied his balls in quick powerful spurts, leaving him weak and gloriously drained.

A smirk passed the man's face then suddenly it was gone to be replaced by sharp light in the window, wiping away also Rory's shocked orgasmic reflection.

There was a shuffling of bodies all around. 'Oh my God!' Rory cried into the maelstrom in his head. They were entering the station!

Rory became panicked. The hand was removed though his flies remained open. There was more shuffling and jostling as the train came to a halt. In a motion of people Rory managed to reach down and pull up his zipper. That helped, though there was bound to be a stain as a reminder of his shame, for allowing a man to do such a thing - wank him off on a crowded train!

The man! In the melee around him he had no idea where his seducer went. Rory looked around, but he couldn't see him. He felt suddenly lonely in this full crowded space.

Then there in the window he saw the man outside approaching from the left. He was only in profile, but Rory knew it was him: the size, the dark features, the sure authority of his stride giving him away. As he passed he turned his head, and caught Rory again. A fist was brought up as if to smother a cough, but the smirk on the man's face told a different story. His tongue came out and made a deftly flick. Rory caught the briefest glimpse that no one else would notice - a little smearing of white on the end of the tip that was taken into the mouth and sensuously tasted.

Then he was gone - taking a fistful of teenage spunk as his happy souvenir from his brief encounter on the train. Rory was left with nothing other than an embarrassing stain that would need dry cleaning, and a cock that would stay hard for the rest of the weekend whilst dreaming, dreaming of the 6:15 to... to what he wasn't sure.